


Floofy fluff fuffufofufoof

by teamfreewillismygaything



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreewillismygaything/pseuds/teamfreewillismygaything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote a fluffy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floofy fluff fuffufofufoof

It wasn't the sunlight from the window that woke Dean up (no windows, anyways), or the smell of coffee or anything. He just woke up, as one does after having a good experience last night, or the day before, just something to smile about, so the mind wakes them up early so they can have more time throughout the day to ponder on it. Like this morning. As usual, Dean didn't want to open his eyes, wishing the dark black wave of sleep would wash over him once more, until he blinked blearily a few times and his eyes locked on the pale expanse of a back, skin stretching for miles and miles. Dean's hand moved under the perfectly heated covers to spread across the side of it, gently, as if afraid to break the warm, soft, surface. Dean shuffled forwards, rolling onto his side in order to gently kiss the back of the neck in front of him, slowly curving an arm over the perfect curve of a hip, forearm bracing the front until he could lightly brush his fingers against where he knew the tattoo was.   
Dean had woken up to a lot of tattoos in his bed. Hearts with the name of someone they wanted to forget, 'bad girl', angels, snakes, hearts with wings, whatever. This tattoo was so much more important. Lines of enochian, to keep this person safe from what was once their own kind. That didn't keep Dean from moving his chin to rest on the imprint of a hickey, or some kind of bite on the shoulder, to nudge the peaceful face lying on a pillow and squeeze him gently closer and breathing   
"-angel-"  
Into Castiel's ear. Dean could feel Castiel wake up, as if he were holding his hands on a computer, feeling everything start whirring as it turned on; first, he could feel Cas's pulse against his own, feel it speed up slightly, felt him tense slightly and let out a soft exhale. The computer pieces slid together, waking up as electricity ran through them, the same as Castiel shifted slightly, Dean pressed close enough to feel how Cas moved, how his muscles bunched and slid as he attempted to stretch as he woke up, pulled close against Dean. He murmured something in a low voice, something Dean didn't bother to try to interpret as he helped Castiel lift himself up enough for Dean to slide his left arm underneath Cas's side, pressed against the bedsheets and welcoming mattress. He folded it across Castiel's chest, one hand spread across Castiel's chest, feeling his heartbeat, feeling the smooth skin, feeling home.   
He held Castiel tight, pressing himself against him, face pressed into his neck, his cheek, his jaw, trying to fit himself into Cas as close as he could come, as close as was humanly possible to align oneself with the echo of grace. Dean could feel it. There was nothing in Castiel's back, Dean's own ribcage pressed close against Cas's shoulderblades formed Castiel's wings, as close as he could get, but the angel was no longer an angel anymore.   
Still, Dean had felt something. A thrum, energy, a glow, like a glove encasing Castiel's skin, stardust in the hot bursts of air Castiel huffed, a light in his eyes that Dean had never seen in all of his other times having sex. Something about the way Castiel moved against Dean, primal and pure, had leaked into Dean as well, into and alongside all of his cracks, into all of the small cuts and scars he had on his body, in between his joints, better than any alcohol or high.  
Something that made this, a dirty act, something that was still grunting and desire and want and need after so many years, something that didn't disguise or even try to mask the fact that they had been locked together, their bodies singing along to an instinctual rhythm, mouths pressing skin, lips, teeth, biting, licking, soothing, loving. Whatever it had been, like the imprints of constellations after you close your eyes after looking up into the night sky, an echo of holiness, of grace, it had not hidden the rough edges, the pleasure, it had embraced it. The shadows of thunderclouds on the ocean, a small leftover of a much larger power, covering their skin, forming something around them, turning this one, scared embrace into something worthy of a thousand words, but only one night.  
Dean pressed his nose under Castiel's ear, breathing in, squeezing Castiel tighter. Castiel couldn't hear his thoughts, he knew, but all the same, he was silent. Castiel was probably still adjusting to the memories flowing into his head, as memories do once one has woken up. Dean pressed a rough kiss into Cas's skin, murmuring a wordless good morning, and Castiel turned himself, still in Dean's grasp, to look at Dean, and Dean looked back down at him and waited, wondered what Castiel saw. If Cas saw the same broken soul he had pulled out of hell, if he saw the freckles, or the green eyes, or if he saw the sex. If he saw Dean, or if he saw Dean Winchester. Whatever Cas saw, Dean didn't have time to ask, before Castiel's searching blue eyes closed as he leaned upwards to kiss Dean, cautious, gentle, loving. Dean let himself relax, eyes closing as well, sealing his lips against Castiel's.  
He rolled back over, onto his back, and with a huffed laugh he pulled Castiel with him, and they rearranged themselves until Castiel's head rested on Dean's chest, one arm supporting his chin, and Dean couldn't suppress a grin as he watched Castiel squirm forwards to press his nose against Dean's, so wanting of attention, loving contact, like a kitten, rubbing himself against Dean. After years of Castiel appearing, standing there, leaving, whenever Cas coughed, or laughed or /squirmed/, Dean was reminded of how Cas was human, and that, more than anything, made Dean calmer, made him happy. He parted his lips as Castiel tilted his head to kiss him again, noses sliding and chins bumping, Dean gently moving a hand from Castiel's side to cup his jaw, holding his face, holding him close as they breathed together. This was the best way to wake up, honestly.


End file.
